


monstrous shenanigans

by Anonymous



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Dirty Talk, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29671362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Things get weird. Sorry about that.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: Anonymous





	monstrous shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> Things get weird. Sorry about that.

This was...a bit much, honestly.

Wilson has now come to the realization that he should have been a bit more...careful.

Cautious was a better word, hesitant, hell maybe even _afraid_. That would have certainly saved him from this rather unforseen predicament, right?

He would like to think so, especially right now. Heavy thick claws held his arms down, weight that felt almost too much but not quite, and the nearby fallen lanterns light was dim and low from how he had lessened it earlier but it was the glowing bleach white eyes that had captured his attention.

They stared down at him, bright and empty, unreadable, blinded almost, or even just blinding, and every foul breath exhaled over him was tainted with the stench of nightmare fuel, spiced thick and heady. Hot exhales, gushed wet and rattled dry, and where the darkness of the form atop him touched it didn't quite _sting_ but was heated almost numb, buzzing sensation that was equal parts painful and yet tolerable, and Wilson stared up at the grand monstrous creature before him and felt a swell of sickness in him at the thought of just how much danger he was in at the moment.

Another heavy exhale, whistle wheezed this time, and that silhouted dark, shadowy head ducked down, low, glowing white eyes in his face and gaping jaws, disfigured with jagged dark teeth, oozing slick nightmare fuel as those blinding pale eyes stared back at him-

"C...can you understand me?" Wilson tried to not show his disgust as drooled oily fuel fell upon his vest, staining blackened tar, and those glowing eyes made no move, no blink or hint of understanding. "...Maxwell?"

He didn't know if that brought forth anything. The creature atop him, pinning him down effectively now, didn't do much but stare at him, pant in rasped wheezed breaths stinking of the fuel that had shifted, twisted the thin body underneath, and the vague outline of shadowy form seemed to bristle up, hackles and spines as the weight shifted and Wilson grit his jaw as faint pressure pain started to bloom to his arms. Those talons hadn't shredded anything, only nicked and poked holes through, no slicing just yet, but Wilson was not looking forward to what matters of violence the former Nightmare King, transformed and twisted as he was, could inflict upon him. 

The pitch dark of the new moon, sky empty of stars even from an overcast night, just made the vastly changed form of the man atop him somehow more monstrous. 

Wilson stared into those empty eyes, blank and rounded like a shadow beasts, face screwed up as he tried to not breathe in those hot, spice tainted exhales of air, and he internally cursed himself, thoroughly and with an air of frustration.

It had been stupid of him, coming out ill prepared, with no warnings, no hints in advance. Did the former Nightmare King know of these transformations, and know of Wilson's presence as he'd observe him from a fair distance? Yes, of course he did, Wilson had questioned and answered and made it _very_ clear his own role in this "issue" of the old mans, but-

-but he had also said, clearly and firm, that he never intended to get close enough to be clawed. Was direct interaction, tactile experimentation more effective for answers? Yes to that as well, but he's seen the gouges in trees, crushed spiders and torn apart rabbits dragged from deep within their burrows, and Wilson was fairly certain he has never once fantasized being the one under those claws.

Unfortunately for him, it looked as if his precautions had dramatically failed in near all ways.

There was a shifting, in movement, and Wilson stiffened up as one of those taloned hands loosened up on his arm, drew back and away. He stayed still, frozen, calculating his next move, easiest route for escape-

When suddenly those jagged toothy mawed jaws cracked open, leaking gushes of nightmare fuel, and a great fat tongue lolled itself out. 

It flicked up, coiled, prehensile and thickly dark purple, split tip not unlike a serpents, and those glowing white eyes stayed locked upon him even as that snake tongue dropped down, started to explore his still clothed chest.

"H-hey, watch it-"

The moment his mouth opened in opposition to the contact that thick serpent tongue twisted about, slathered oily thin sheens of nightmare fuel about his clothes, then suddenly licked a cupping, dragging gesture from his covered collarbone up his throat to his chin. It made him snap his mouth closed, disgust and, finally, mild fear as the side of his face was lathered with drooling oily saliva. 

For all that his face scrunched up, a slight lean as to try and avoid the touch, Wilson couldn't help but note the sensations, texture and overall quality of it all. A man turned shadow, or rather enwreathed by such, twisted into a nightmarish creature with possibly violent, nightmarish behaviors, was obviously something not seen every day.

The downside to this was that _Wilson_ was the one seeing it, and very much too up close and personal.

His interactions with the Nightmare King have been...stained, so far, and complicated, and while he may know a bit too intimately well just how slick and smooth that serpent tongue can be _this_ was a bit more out of the usual range. Split tipped and slimy, silken smooth and heated warm but still buzzing that numb sensation from heavy shadows, and Wilson squinted open his eyes in time to see that glowing white stare actually _narrow_ down at him.

Familiarity came in handy, as he felt the rumble of almost sound hum through the shadowy chest hovered over him, reverberating through thick tongue and the heavy claws still holding him down; Maxwell was _amused._

There was the question of lucidity, of just how aware the former Nightmare King was as of right now, but Wilson couldn't exactly question that further when that serpent tongue slicked over his face again, slathering oily drool to his cheek and swiping haphazardly through his _hair-_

" _Carter_ , I swear to whatever exists in this place-"

Not his best choice of words, he felt that hum turn low and gurgled deep, claws tightening on him as that free dark hand suddenly found a place at his ribs, just below and almost to his waist, talons clawing into his cloths with a threatening pressure, glowing bleach eyes narrowing to slits as the air shifted in tone. The tongue thankfully pulled away, and Wilson got enough in him to push his hands at the creatures shadowy chest, rough and firm as his face hardened in determination.

"I don't know what you are thinking but I will not-" 

He got cut off as the air was suddenly squeezed out of his lungs, weight and heavy talons tightening, pressing to his own chest, a deeper cooing hum as the shadows withered and burned heated numb static up and down wherever they touched, and Wilson gaped at the shock of the deeply unpleasant feeling before air rushed back into his lungs as he was left gasping.

It didn't escape his notice that Maxwell had effectively taken the opportunity to shift atop him some more, practically laying on him now. As he gathered his breath back, ignoring the unnatural static numbness of the shadows as they seeped into his skin, as more drool pooled to his collarbone and stained his cloths dark, the faint poke of fangs and claws and those ever glowing bright bleach eyes, watching him, Wilson had the dawning realization that maybe he shouldn't piss off the monster currently using him as a bed.

It took several minutes, not meeting those white eyes as they watched him, ignoring the faint low hums, almost purrs of contentment, before he could get his thoughts back together again. The shadows were doing a number on him, and Wilson did not trust all this contact with the oils, raw and heavy and hot as it all was.

It took a bit longer, to realize that the hideous serpent tongue, warm and slick and smooth, was lapping gently to the underside of his chin. The numbing oils mostly covered the sensation, but Wilson's face fell into disgust as the split tips flicked against him, lapped easily, without any motive besides movement, against his skin. The spreading of more nightmare fuel ticked off a red flag, and Wilson shifted, a mild attempt to roll his shoulders as he side eyed the monstrosity currently using him as entertainment. He could feel those claws as well, pin pricks of static numbness, kneading against him, curling into his clothes, thoroughly staining him blackened oil slick, and Wilson hissed a silent huff of frustration at the acknowledgement.

He was going to be a disgusting mess once this night was over with, and he _will_ make this Maxwell's problem the moment the man becomes lucid once more.

"...you better live this up, _pal_ , because once the sun rises I _will_ make you clean me up."

The shadow beast that was Maxwell currently just heaved a slow sigh, a hummed breath, not an ounce of recognition at Wilson's words, and he rolled his eyes, tried to not grimace as that tongue lolled against his cheek, scratching to his stubble before rolling to bath his throat in drool. There wasn't much he could do, not unless he wanted to risk getting thoroughly clawed up, and while he may consider it Wilson would rather have stained sticky clothes over torn up garments. Patching and sewing took work, time, and he just didn't have the time to fix something up that should not need any fixing to begin with.

...well, he may as well use the opportunity while it lasted. Wilson usually hovered nearby, up a tree or dug into a hidden camouflaged trench, and while he hasn't had the chance to actually see Maxwell _when_ the transformation takes place he's spent the last few months writing down his findings so far. Discussing them with Maxwell seems to have eased up some of the issues that had rose in the beginning- if he had eaten earlier shadow monster Maxwell did not go out and hunt or become hostile and attack living things, if he has had a last few nights of insomnia the monster usually bedded down elsewhere and fell asleep, if the former Nightmare Kings mind was not all there the monster became unpredictable and lashed out, keening those awful groaned hissing sounds and picking fights with ent guards and nearby spiders or hounds.

Who, as Wilson has noticed, tried to keep their distance. Being made nearly entirely of nightmare fuel has made Maxwell a rather well avoided figure within the Constant on new moons night.

For right now, however, the monster only rumbled low at him, disgustingly smooth tongue lapping at his face and all too sharp claws kneading his clothing, laying upon him in an almost relaxed, loose manner.

Wilson allowed for it; his best bet was to wait out the night, wait for the oils to violently leave the man shaken and in harrowingly sick pains by morning, and then to berate him once Wilson got him to camp, well enough to scold by then hopefully. Not really what he'd like to focus his time too, but he had fully stocked his lantern earlier, only dimmed due to trying to keep a low profile earlier incase he was spotted, but that hadn't exactly played out in his favor anyway, and so the rest of the night should play out in a relatively simple, calm next few hours. 

This seemed to be the case, it wasn't all that bad really, the somewhat gentle touches were sort of nice, the smooth serpent muscle soft and almost soothing even to his face, the rhythmic squeezes and pressure touch of those talons comforting in their own way-

-even the waves of hums, disjointed purrs of contentment somewhat, seemed to paint a calm, easy picture in Wilson's head.

He can withstand this, for tonight. Something to write down in his observation notes later; an experience was an experience, especially in the name of science, and Wilson will take that tidbit of information and run with it as far as he could ever go! So far he has found that the best way to keep this monstrified version of a man he knew very, very well calm was to expose his presence, and be given some unprompted cuddles.

Those sharp talons, heavy weighted in the hand and wrist, kept up their simple, rhythmic touches, kneading him in much the same way a cat, or more accurately a catcoon, would. The shadowy monster had shifted again, claws gripping to his vest and shirt, pricking against his sides and ribs now as the fabric weakened underneath shadow bladed talons, slicking and staining black with the oily residue, and Wilson tried to not shiver in disgust as more slimy drool pooled to the dip of his throat, soaked through his collar in damp, static numbing heat. Once this was done and over with he was fairly sure he was not going to be a pretty sight, slathered in nightmare oils, drool and saliva and the fuel itself as it collected atop his skin. 

He really hoped there wouldn't be any consequences for this; a hit to his mentality was definitely on its way, but hopefully nothing permanent, or dangerous. Fuel consumption was not at all a bright idea, and even working with the stuff can be a bit tough on the body. Maxwell was a prime example of that.

Still, being the pillow for a man turned almost entirely shadow wasn't exactly an opportunity Wilson could just _waste_. He was here, up close, and now that those claws weren't pinning him down any longer, now that Maxwell has shown no hostility towards him or his presence, Wilson felt he had to take advantage of what he had here.

Going slow as to not startle the shadowy monster, Wilson carefully raised his arms, bit by bit, fingers spread and palms open as he tilted his head, not at all masking the look of disgust on his face as that tongue swiped over his cheek and started to bath the side of his face. Maxwell seemed distracted enough with that, so Wilson only hesitated for a few seconds before laying his hands atop that broad, shadow enwreathed back.

There was a shiver, in the dark oily fuel, the low rumble deep in the former Nightmare King's chest pausing into a faded quiet, and Wilson narrowed his eyes as his hands felt the bristling hackles rise up under his palms. There was a certain smoothness to it, soft shadows that were almost like fragile feathers, or extremely soft furs, something completely other compared to rabbit, rat or even dove. 

As his hands passed curiously over bony shoulders, the shadows both enunciating and yet smoothing out those more familiar features, Wilson huffed as that tongue started once more to lap at his neck. His fingers explored the dips and notches of bone, jutting spine and the soft, silken smooth shadows that feathered up under his touch; a shudder passed through the shadow monster atop him, rumble curling into a cooing hum before tapering low and quiet again, and the talons tangled in his cloths tugged, squeezing lightly before returning to their previous simple movements.

While he couldn't exactly look into those glowing eyes right now, Wilson felt a bit of smugness at the thought that Maxwell had near gone passive at his touch. This was definitely something he would for sure note down in his research journals, one particular small leather bound books dedicated to the shadows and Their wear and tear upon a man so deeply ingrained with them. 

As disgustingly slimy and touchy as this was, Wilson thought, screwing up his eyes as hot spiced breath washed over him, tongue lapping to the side of his face, swiping to the bridge of his nose and dousing one of his closed eyes in slimy oil mucus, the feathery bristles under his hands puffing up before smoothing down once more, he at least acknowledged that the touching was the best part of this situation. Better than being torn to shreds and eaten alive, as he had previously feared beforehand. 

Wilson was quite certain of this train of thought, up until the shadow monsters hums of sound started to become.. _irregular._

That is to say, they had deepened somewhat, but not slowed. It only made Wilson aware by sheer luck, as that tongue had slowed down, gently swiping over him in soothing, almost doze causing motions. Those clawed hands had moved, one drifting low to his hip, the other curling upwards, dragging hooked talons across his clothed chest, tangling into his hair, the slightest of tilts as those glowing empty eyes briefly rose to stare at him, before-

Wilson let out the most undignifying squeak he could've made, jolting as sudden sharp _pain_ arched up from his neck and bubbled thickly across his skin, which was then immediately lathered over by numbing warm tongue. His own hands had grabbed at those bony shoulders, bristling hackles of shadow puffing up sharp, soft, and while the shadow monster transformation of the former Nightmare King hummed against his neck, not at all bothered by the fact that he had _nipped_ Wilson, Wilson himself was a bit tense afterwards.

He didn't think there was any drawn blood, or at least he hoped not, nightmare fuel somehow getting into his bloodstream was not something he was willing to inadvertently experiment with right now, but that horrid serpent tongue had twisted up, hot wet breath, the wash of spiced oils exhaled against him as those blindingly bleach white eyes narrowed up at him with something he could almost identify as _smugness._

"W-well, that was just uncalled for!" Wilson snapped at the pale, empty gaze staring at him, almost mocking, _teasing_ , and the huffing hum of a rumble washed more of that stinking nightmare fuel scent over his face. He opened his mouth to berate the man turned monster, maybe if he talked more it would knock some lucid sense into him, but Maxwell shut him up in a very, very effective manner.

Wilson, for his part, would defend himself later with an excuse of shock and surprise. He would not, however, mention the familiarity of the action, of his more, er, _intimate_ knowledge of that serpent tongue, the smooth drag and just how soft the flesh of that muscle really was, or just how much control its owner had and the somewhat vulgar displays of flexibility-

But that was beside the point, especially since Wilson had tensed up the moment his mouth got invaded by something much, much less human that he was used to.

He almost bit down, a shock instinctive response, but Maxwell rumbled again, deep and low and, after a moment, turning into an irregular humming, and for all that it took to not gag that forked tongue was not as obstructive as he rather shamefully knew it could be. 

It slicked across his teeth, tips flicking his gums before layering against his own tongue, heavy with the thick drool and saliva of nightmare fuel taint, and Wilson had frozen up, blinking in utter shock as that serpent tongue had its way with his mouth.

And then his hands shoved against those bony shoulders, enough of a push to make the shadow monster over him draw back with a rasping exhale of foul oily fuel scent, a coo oozing out of those fanged jaws as the serpent tongue hung limp between them. Wilson panted, both from surprise and exertion and the totally unprepared nature of sensitivity, and all those blinding bleach white eyes did was narrow in that thickened amusement.

Wilson opened and closed his mouth, too many curses caught on his tongue to actually give them voice, floundering in the haze of shock that still had him, and the taste left behind in his mouth made his gut twist, a revolting shudder as he tried to swallow past it. By then that jagged maw had dipped down again, snake tongue back to lap against his neck, swipe lazily to his throat, the rumbling purrs of sound rising heavy in the air once more.

His hands were still gripping to those shoulders, a tight, firm hold, tangled in shadowy bristles, the mane of darkness soft and delicate under his palms, and Wilson laid there and tried to wrangle back his words. 

"Y...y-you…"

He trailed off, a shiver crawling up his spine as the sudden sensation, a dragging hard trail of jagged fangs nibbling at his neck before that monstrous tongue came back, the vibrating hums rumbling against him, and Wilson belatedly recognized that this may be way over his head by now.

It wasn't as if he never _thought_ about that tongue, he's had some choice experiences with it before now, Maxwell has always been rather...keen, might be the word, to use it on him, but this monstrified, nightmare fuel drenched _thing_ was vastly exaggerated compared to the old man! The foul taste on his own tongue had turned, a numbing softness to it, cottoned and tasteless, and his whole mouth now felt a bit leaden heavy, a bit more effort taken into swallowing.

As if he had been pricked with anesthesia, to the gums and tongue. Was that the nightmare fuels doing then?

Something his mind wanted to twist and turn, focus and meander on about, but then Maxwell's purrs grew stronger, louder vibrations against him as that tongue swiped up against his ear, long trailing forks draping low to brush the back of his neck, and Wilson shifted somewhat, numb mouth bared in a loose grimace as he felt those sharp talons shift downwards and grab at his waist. Pinpricks of discomfort, faint pain that had him screw up his eyes as his clothes tore and claws dug into his hips, but when he let out a stuttered hiss, a mixture of pain and shock and brief, vague panic exhaled from his throat, those shadowy hackles atop him puffed up in one heavy rumble of a growl.

"C-careful there, I don't want-" The rumble turned foul, a half snarl scraping at his eardrums, layering like shadow whispers as those empty glowing eyes widened down at him, toothy jaw agape and tongue slipping along his throat, and Wilson switched tracks quickly. " _You_ don't want to hurt me, right Max?"

The slipped in plea seemed to ease the tension that he could feel in those claws, and they let up somewhat, once again tangling to his clothing, starting to tug and squeeze in kneading, slow motions. Those eyes glowed with a spark of something, not quite recognition but _familiarity_ , a puffing coo as Wilson realized he was being watched almost expectantly.

"C-certainly not, no, not at all! Hurting me is the least of your concerns right now, isn't that right, Maxwell?" The shadowy monster was listening to him, that was obvious, but he still had no idea how lucid he was, how comprehensible, if he could even be called sentient as of right now! Wilson didn't want to test the patience there, and he didn't exactly want to fight his way out from those claws either. Dawn should be in another few hours, just a little longer, and with Maxwell actively now interacting with him, not just laying there passively, he needed to try and make sure he wasn't going to end up being on the menu.

"There are other things to do, besides hurt me! No reason for violence, no no, none whatsoever Max! No reason to draw blood or cause, uh, pain, no." Maxwell was still watching him, that keen familiarity unsettling somehow, the slightest tilt of that shadow enwreathed head, and Wilson swallowed thickly, fighting the grimace on his face from the thick oily aftertaste still there. "I'm sure we can settle tonight some other way, can't we?"

He'd much prefer if it went back to how they were only a short while ago, the tongue licking and minor cuddling purrs. At least then he knew he could tolerate it for the rest of the night!

The man turned shadow monstrosity stared at him, blind pale eyes wide and empty and glowing ever so softly, and he could feel the feathery fur under his palms, weight laid atop him, those nightmarish claws as their kneading slowed down somewhat in ferocity. By now his vest and undershirt were surely torn up somewhat, and what wasn't ripped or poked through was sodden with nightmare fuel, staining straight through to buzz warm numbing slickness to his skin, damp but not as discomforting as he knew it could be. Whatever was going on in that shadow enwreathed mind Wilson wasn't exactly keen to know, though curiosity still stayed his hand in trying a blind struggle to get out of the grip of those talons. Surprise and his own strength would more than likely get him out of this mess, Wilson knew he could fairly easily overpower Maxwell, but that still meant taking a few hits and getting jabbed through the gut by nightmare oiled talons just wasn't all that appealing.

And, well. He didn't want to _hurt_ Maxwell either. Not when the old man couldn't even understand _why_ , at any rate. Some things in the privacy of the tent stayed so, he rarely thought to bring it up and even then didn't make any effort to mention such things; if, perhaps, sometimes he didn't object, more like _leaned into_ , those usually fine tipped talons when they dug into his back, or tore through in long red lines down his chest, then that was something Wilson made no effort in discussing.

And, if every once in a while Maxwell guided Wilson's hands to his neck and tempted them into squeezing just a bit too much, then it was not anything either ever talked about.

They're relations were complicated, after all.

Right now, however, Wilson was pretty sure he'd not survive much if the shadow monster atop him got violent. Enough to fight back and give as much as he got, maybe, but at the end of the day Wilson just wasn't up for dealing with death right now.

And he was pretty sure Maxwell felt the same, if he had enough lucid thought up there to make that call. 

That warm slick tongue had twisted from his neck, was arching up in serpentine twists to lather the side of his face, flick split tips against his ear and slime him with more nightmare fuel, and the rumbling purrs within Maxwells chest grew deeper, throatier as those jaws hung limp and oozing dark oils all over him. It was deeply disgusting, unnerving, uncomfortable in an unknowing way-

-yet Wilson rubbed his thumbs to those bony shoulders, feathery mane of shadows twisting and softening under his grip, that warmth of contact and touch glowing nearly as strongly as the former Nightmare Kings bleach empty shadow eyes. This didn't _feel_ as if he was in for a painful evisceration, even when those sharp talons briefly poked against the skin of his hips, slicing easily through his fraying clothes. He felt the jab of fangs, jagged teeth brushing the skin of his throat and putting enough pressure to make him lean his head back, chin up as that tongue slithered across the side of his face, as those humming purrs grew stronger, and after a few minutes of that Wilson slowly started to have it dawn on him that _maybe_ the direction taken away from violence was something more...unpredictable.

It solidified fully when the shadow furs under his hands suddenly started to puff up, a throaty rumbling growl vibrating against his neck, and those talons about his sides dug down in a full on grip to his waist. A slight tug, enough to make him hiss at the discomfort at being dragged against the ground, and then that tongue slathered down his neck and the forked tips started to inch down against his shirt collar, tickling his skin as it slipped under the fuel sodden fabric. 

That would have made him cringe, or even try to lean away from the invasive slimy, all too numbingly warm touch, but Wilson was more than distracted when those claws dug into his hips and weight, pressure pushed up against his groin in one smooth sliding motion.

The shudder after that, shadow mane puffing up as those jagged fangs brushed against his cheek, low to his ear and now Maxwell had pressed his head to the side of his own, heated exhaled foul oils, the stink of that spiced odor, thick and heavy and static, numbing with every breath he took, and that tongue withered beneath the collar of his shirt with a jerking, almost _teasing_ squirm.

The sound that _might_ have slipped from his open mouth, shock and surprise and something a bit more heady and hot, was not something Wilson was especially proud of. The man turned monstrosity, however, rumbled long and low, a curling cooing purr tinted into a fade, and he may not be able to see it in any way shape or form but Wilson was almost definitely certain that Maxwell was _smirking._

"Y-you, you are…" Wilson's own hands tightened, grabbing tight to those bony shoulders, pinching the feather soft shadow furs, and he shivered as Maxwell rumbled against him, vibrations pressed against him with how close they were held together. "You are just pushing it, _Carter._ "

The former Nightmare King growled in his ear, a deep, throaty hum of a sound, overlayed by shadows and shades and that thick, pungent stink of nightmare fuel, doused in sickening oils and the monstrosities dripping dark fluids. The claws at his hips pinched him again, Wilson could feel the sharp shocks of pain as they sliced into his skin, the colder bloom of his own bloodshed before being numbed over by the fuels sedating effects, and he grit his teeth when another short, simple, _mocking_ thrust was made against him.

This time he could feel the slick of the nightmare fuel oozing over him, a difference well below the polite height, and every breath he took was heavy with that spiced scent now, inhaling and exhaling the washing tides of heady odor. It made his mouth buzz, warm and smooth and billowing in numb streaks, his head spin in a dizzy fountain for a moment as his grip tightened over shadow feather soft furs and he had to shut his eyes for a semblance of scrambled balance, but when he opened them again those glowing bleach pale eyes had raised up again, hovered over him, toothy mouth agape and lolling thick tongue hanging loose, forked tip still squirming under the collar of his shirt.

Maxwell rumbled over him, great heaving breaths of thick oily stench, and his toothy maw twitched when Wilson's face twistes into a crooked hook of a smile.

"That's...that's what you want, isn't it, Max?"

This wasn't exactly where he was aiming for tonight, not at all really, but in all honesty his research notes about this have been coming up with some odd findings as of late.

Lack of food caused the monster to seek it out; lack of sleep had him bed down in caves or dig into the roots of trees. The less sense of stability he had, the more the monster acted out in volatile, unpredictable frustrations. There was a rhythm to these transformations, tied rather strictly to the man that endured them, and Wilson has done his best to study and jot down every little observation he catches sight of, repeating them back to the former Nightmare King once he had his sensibilities back, preferably next to a campfire with a blanket over his shoulders and finally having stopped trembling from the overdose of nightmare fuels that had enwreathed and choked up his more mortal system.

Wilson had noted the somewhat animalistic behaviors he saw with confusion; shadow monsters were Other, so very unlike beastly creatures it was almost laughable if it wasn't for Their tendency for violent delights, but perhaps this was more due to the man underneath the fuel than any ethereal Them. The near instinctive responses from environmental changes, variations of these long, dark nights, were intriguing in their own way, and Maxwell strayed far from sentient, lucid humanity when like this.

Though more human than shadow, Wilson had thought to himself back then, and now he recognized the truth of it more clearly.

Shadows never had much need for intimacies. Humans, on the other hand…

Well, it has been a while, hasn't it?

"You could've just asked nicely, you know…" Wilson felt a bit of petty smugness rise in his chest as his hand trailed down that vast bony back, thin and puffed up with soft feathery smoke shadows. The shiver that caused was more pronounced, more...satisfying, and Wilson raised his free hand, tangled his fingers to the dark shadow strands of thin hair, palm against high bony cheek and those ever glowing, blank empty eyes staring down at him.

A light tug got the shadowy monster to lean, allowing that jagged maw to fall back low, brush against the side of his neck and shoulder, before Wilson turned his head, pressed his lips to just a few inches away from that shadow twisted ear, and his voice dropped low and just as rumbly as the shadows as he whispered, _"If you wanted me to fuck you then you should've told me earlier."_

The growl at his words rumbled deep, low as those talons clawed into his flesh a bit tighter, jaws gaping an open threat against the side of his neck, only marred by that great slimy tongue as it slathered heated oils against his chest with a bit more unnecessary vigor, and Maxwell was usually the one to talk with more vulgarity at times, especially in the throes of passion - or, sometimes, spitting out vile words interlaced with heated sputtered, gasped moans as Wilson choked the air out of him, pressed deep into the man and edged to his limit as that hollow gut fluttered and dark fuel splattered over sickly pale skin in suffocating ecstasy.

But, as they've both found out, when the words came from _Wilson_ there was always an intriguing switch up to all this.

"What, have you been keeping silent this whole time just to make it _my_ problem later? Waiting for a night like this one, waiting for me to find you, _soothe_ you?"

The rumbling purrs grew in strength, no sign of stopping, and those claws were dug deep now, tongue straining against his shirt as those forked tips swiped against his naked chest, and Wilson took one hand and started fiddling with the buttons of his vest, tugging it down and allowing the slick dark drool oozing from the monsters mouth to drop against his bared skin instead of too sodden cloth. As he did this his other hand pressed, rubbed up and down that bony sharp back, smooth feather shadows under his palms, shivering thin form pressing into his touch.

The heaving, nightmare fuel stinking exhales grew deeper, heavier, and Wilson could feel those jagged fangs brushing against his exposed collarbone, thick slimy tongue pulling and twisting under his shirt, attempting to reach every covered bit of flesh he had reachable, and one of his hands tangled to the back of that shadow feather soft head, biting his lower lip as he guided those jaws into brushing half nipping, more dragging sharp trails against his skin. Those fangs nicked his clothing more, though this time with less intent into tearing and more concentrated onto peeling back the fabric to start slathering the skin underneath in more hot dark oily drool, and Maxwell _rumbled_ , deep, deep within his shadow entrenched chest.

"This what you want, Maxie?" Wilson's voice came up a bit airy now, and his use of the name made the shadow monster atop him absolutely _shiver_ , purrs pitching for a half second before fading low and heavy and deep, and the stink of the fuels was starting to make his eyes water, smearing sickly vision focused to the dark softened furs and rattled breathes pressed against him. "You want me to _fuck_ the beast that you are, take you here and now, in the dark? Don't you know there are always things _watching_ out there?"

Maxwell growled, low as those jaws started to half nibble his skin, slimy tongue in the way for more full bites, talons kneading his very flesh now, hot damp stickiness of shadow fuel and his own blood, but when Wilson clawed his hand and dragged his fingers down that boney thin spine the man turned shadow monster absolutely _arched_ in an almost beautiful, elegant fashion, a hissy wheeze purring out his throat as that tongue finally slipped out from under Wilsons shirt and away from where his chest was most bare, slathering almost limpy back to his throat.

Wilson still had a hold on him, taking in deep, somewhat rasping gasps of that spiced thick air, warm and heady and dizzying, confusing almost, soaked in nightmare fuel, still tasting it thick to his tongue, disgusting and encompassing and all around rather _pleasing._

He dragged back down that toothy maw, panting against that shadowy ear, the soft tainted stench of oils all around him, covering him, and Wilson huffed out something that might have been a slurred laugh.

"You were always one for an audience, weren't you Max?"

He could practically _hear_ the shadows as They giggled maniacally at both men, all around them, enmeshed with the very dark of the Constants night. Only the dim lamp light kept Them back, away...for now.

For his part, Wilson wasn't all that surprised when that shadowy mass of weight twisted, shifted weight, and then suddenly bucked up against him. It still made him gasp, a shocked little sound, he hadn't even realized just how _hard_ he had gotten, the friction drag of heat and weight and shared contact, and Maxwell rumbled a weakened coo of a purr as the shadows continued to rub up against him, talons tight and digging deep.

Wilson didn't let his hands play idle, rubbing that bony spine and then thin stark jutting sides, brushing through feather fur, that mane and puffed hackles soft and thick and drenching shadows. When his searching fingers dipped low, curved back around and pressed up against that hollow shadow enwreathed belly, the encountered slick ooze of oily fuel and nightmares caught thick and sticky to his hands, slicking to his clothes as the nightmarish monstrosity shifted, raised himself a bit before pressing weight down once more against Wilson in a smooth slide of a thrust.

And then Maxwells feather furs went straight up in one giant puff up of surprise, shock, a cut off rumble turning into a gargled wheeze, claws dug deep into flesh and slick with his blood by now as Wilson trailed his hands down and dipped his fingers into the exposed shadow oozing slit he felt there.

When Maxwell bucked against his hand, a huffing snarl wheezing low and shallow, the gushing slime of more nightmare oils than was expected dribbling down in slick strings to his fingers and wrist, Wilson couldn't help the crooked satisfaction on his face, grinning at the man turned monster, at the former Nightmare King, at his entirely too pent up, highly aroused partner.

"Look how wet you are Max, just for me." His fingers pressed experimentally against the shadows and their edges, rubbing and petting and exploring, and when those shadow darkened thighs shook and Maxwell trembled atop him, that forked tongue once more lathering vigorously against his neck, Wilson tilted his head to let his mouth rest next to the monsters shadowy ears. _"No better than a bitch in heat, aren't you?"_

That earned him a sharp nipping drag to his neck, bruising to his throat as Maxwell rumbled against him, hips shuddering minutely as he weathered through Wilson's explorative, much too good at this fingers. The slick oozed out and doused his own trousers, little rocky thrusts just above his own pressing need against his hand, and Wilson shivered as a throaty croak of a sound escaped Maxwell's jagged tooth jaw. His lips pressed to the shadows of the old man's transformed face, his dark shadowy enclosed ear, and Wilson couldn't help but press a smirk to that warm, buzzing numb heated sensation, take it all in.

When Maxwell pressed his hips against his hands, deep and shakily rubbing against him, almost searching, Wilson gave his partner a bit of a mercy.

"Give me a second and I'll breed you like the beast that you are, _pal_." Wilson shoved at his trousers, the fabric sodden thick and slimy, and when his hand and his thickly fuel coated fingers pulled away the monstrified man made an almost pitiful sound in response, shuddering at the loss. "Should've told me ages ago, you know I'd be all for fucking you Max."

Honestly, Maxwell _had_ probably told him that at some point. Their intimacies were not always spoken aloud, sometimes all they both needed was a brief touch, a lean into each other for support, the briefest nudge of lips pressed to the back of the neck; both men were not exactly the type to make their relations a large, public ordeal. More often than not Maxwell laid a hand to Wilsons spine, ghosted touch down his back for a brief moment after entering the tent together to head to bed, and that was all that was needed for the more vulgar, private touches to begin.

For the most part they didn't get up to much involving penetration; too much energy, too much time, not enough supplies for a sufficient lube - Wilson found that getting handsy, and maybe a bit mouthy, seemed to let off the stress and steam from the older man's shoulders well enough. Sometimes it was just the case of jacking each other off, sensual and quick and relaxing; others it was more frantically desperate, a need for skin to skin contact, a skin hunger roaring through the veins needing to be fed. 

When Maxwell grinded the leaking shadow enwreathed variation of his groin against Wilsons fuel soaked boxers, tenting and now definitely not just wetted with those dark oils, Wilson felt it certain that such simple touches were not going to be satisfying enough tonight.

With one hand itching through that mane of feather soft furs that dipped down Maxwells dark, bony chest, making the monster rasp rumbling purrs of shivering sound, Wilson struggled against his sticky boxers for a moment before finally pulling out his own half masted cock. The claws on his hips shifted, dragged heated painful flames as faint traces of blood pooled down under his waist, a loosening grasp to his flesh suddenly, and that tongue lolled out in a twitching slimy squirm, glowing blind eyes shifting as those jagged jaws gaped in shallow stinking pants of heated breath. The shadow monstrosity tilted his head, pale gaze drifting low and towards the spectacle of Wilson's own nightmare fuel slicked hand curled around his erection, and Wilson stared up at that shadowy silhouette hovering over him for a few moments.

And then he shivered as that split tipped serpent tongue swiped down and started to swipe over the wounds those talons had caused, the dip of Maxwell's head hanging low, thick, slimy muscle unbearably close to Wilsons cock, enough to feel the exhaled heated breaths, and while the monster shuddered from the taste of human, all too human blood Wilson found himself swallowing thickly as his dick twitched in his hands. Pre oozed out of his slit, just enough that he rasped out a little breath as he swiped a thumb over his head, slicked himself with a slow, torturing faint stroke, not enough for pressure or pleasure, and watching a shadowy monstrous transformed Maxwell hover over him, near straddling him, with head lowered and serpent tongue swiping over his hips, side to side, lathering oily drool over his pudgy gut each time, was really getting to him.

"S...say, pal…" Wilson licked his lips, sucked in a heated spiced breath of the fuel drenched air, sticky from sodden cloths and slicked skin, and his head spun and his mouth felt stuffed of cotton, layering even more so when those glowing blank eyes rose to meet his own, snake tongue going still atop his belly, just barely missing contact with his flushed erection. "You...you don't look so good…"

His cock pulsed in his palm when the shadowy entrenched monster shifted, a faint lean in as if to listen more closely to his words, and Wilson shivered as that thick tongue twisted, slow and smooth and easy, forked tips just barely grazing over his own fingers, swiping a light, too light touch to his tip. There was anticipation there, waiting for his words, and Wilson could see the pull of that jagged tooth jaw, the hint of a crooked smirk that almost matched his more wobbly, excited grin.

"Might want to...find something to eat, before night…. _cums_..-"

It was sort of stupid, and petty, and maybe even cheesy perhaps, but it was too late for Wilson to take it back because that shadowy head went down and that thick, slimy warm, slick and silken smooth tongue draped down atop his hand, his erection, and near all thought left his head when that heated muscle _squirmed._

The sound that left him was less a gasp and more a squeaking moan, a strained whimper, and Maxwell set no pace, no consistent movement, only continual, shuddering hot and slimy thick constriction, heated breath exhaled over him from gaping, far too full of fanged teeth jaws, and Wilson panted, stomach tensing as some of those fangs scraped against his belly, the blooming pressure of arousal earlier now a full blown explosive tide, white heat and heady pressure and trembling thighs as he tumbled under the encompassing, all too encompassing pleasures.

When he tried to buck into it, shuddering in and out gasps at the too much, too fast, bliss overwhelmed with lust and blown wide with contact, stimulation, those shadowy talons grabbed once more to his waist, digging new sharp marks into the skin of his scarred hips, and Maxwell rumbled a satisfied hum when Wilson rasped out a gasp of surprise and shock and overwhelming pleasure.

He would've cum then and there, too much too fast, air heady and thick and mind dizzy under the fuels oily influence, and the edge almost crested him by as Wilsons hips shuddered and his back arched, toes curling in a blissed out, all too painful whimper, but then that slimy thick tongue dragged off his throbbing member and settled back into lathering his stomach and ribs, rising to flick against his chest in almost teasing, simple movements. He was left gaping, sucking in air with his heart pounding frantic in his chest, trying to gather his thoughts back, and his prick twitched pathetically, slapping to his drool slimed stomach, throbbing from unspent tense pleasure as those claws kneaded his very skin, pin pricks of pain and rumbled vibrating hums, coos of contentment.

"F-fuck, Max…" He breath left him in whistled gasps now, not even realizing he had closed his eyes until he opened them once more, those glowing pale eyes narrowed again, jagged maw hanging open and too thick, too long and heavy tongue rolling circles to just above his gut, not close enough to his neglected erection. He pressed an arm to his face, covering his eyes with static blooms of pressure as he tried to reign himself in, and for a moment he swore Maxwell had huffed a chuckle at him, amused and still ever so entertained. The overdose of nightmare fuel around him was doing him in, he knew it was, but Wilson laid there, heavily aroused and full of pent up lust, the shadowy entrenched form of his partner near straddling him, watching him with narrowed interest, and this just wasn't something he was going to shove away and put off for another day.

So when he raised his hand to grasp loosely at Maxwell's shoulder, feather furs of a mane puffed up, hackles raised and fuel entrenched body still oozing oils all over him, Wilson couldn't help but crack a crooked, possibly a little unstable grin, raising an eyebrow as he met that shadowy blind gaze with his darkened, unsettled own.

"Thought you wanted to get a little _down_ and _dirty,_ Maxie."

That got him shoved to his back, the gravel of the ground under him sticking to his sodden damp clothes, but that was the least of his worries because Maxwell was rubbing himself against Wilson and that much twisted shadow fuel was a bit _much-_

Hot and numbing and throbbingly sensual, sensations he couldn't exactly piece together as oily fluids slicked over his erection, and then at some point Wilson had to wrangle enough back in him to recognize the snarly growls of frustration Maxwell panted against his neck, shuddering from the mixed sensations of his genitals against some very soft, very sensitive areas _and_ the slick slimy heat of nightmare fuel slicking to places it really _should not be-_

But then Wilson got a hand to his erection and guided himself up into the thrusting slide of the man turned monster's slit and found himself giving over to the overpowering flood of lust and bliss and _all too much at once._

In between that point of entering too much heat and too much silk smooth, graspingly slimy _damp_ and _wet_ and near everything else in the dizzy swirl of his mind Wilson vaguely recognized when Maxwell gasped out a truly monstrous, heavenly _wonderful_ moan and his damp hand was tangled with too sharp talons, tugged and guided down as to feel up something that he almost thought was the monsters _tongue-_

But no, a shadowy dark erection, head flared in an all too familiar shape, even as his vision smeared and the chaotic chorus of Them and him and Maxwell as they coupled in the empty darkness of new moon surrounded by eyes neither could almost, almost just _see_ , _feel_ watching them, it was all just part of the ecstasy of heat and touch and sensual familiarity with each other - and Wilson pumped his partners cock in the spiced damp thick air as that tongue lathered against his throat and those fangs dragged and threatened to nip, _bite_ , his own lips pressing, _tasting_ the oily oozing fuel sweat over darkened corrupted skin as Maxwell panted, groaned even as his nightmarish body continued to ride Wilson with as much vigor as each could muster for each other.

He didn't even know he was climaxing until he was, sprinting past edge and zenith and cascading down into gasping cries, bucking up and pressing his face to those shadowy feather soft furs, the dark spices of each breath washing through him and taxing his already taxed body with shuddering thrusts and milking twitching spurts of cum from his still hard cock. The heat around him tightened, talons digging into his back and fangs scouring across his shoulder as that monstrous tongue withered across his chest, his belly, and vaguely Wilson recognized the damp wet of sputtered nightmare fuel as the cock in his hand throbbed, ejaculated over his skin. He continued to stroke it as the monstrified version of his partner shuddered, wrapped around him and twitching in the throes of heightened orgasm, and his own lightheadedness made everything airy and soft and heavy, weight tired as he found himself leaning into Maxwell's arms and his partner into his own.

When he came too, a half doze startled awake by an almost memory, almost nightmare, Wilson was very, very confused for a few moments.

The shadowy monstrous thing in his arms breathed deep, slow, and his face twisted in discomforting disgust as he realized he was still buried in that slick heat. His hand was empty now, only splattered shadow fuel in his palm the remains of something that was never really there in the first place, but he was absolutely drenched in the stuff, and it was starting to go cold. Thick and coagulated, he belatedly realized, and later Wilson was going to near have an aneurysm when he realized just how _bad_ his hair had gotten-

-but then Maxwell shifted, a slow, drolling hiss escaping his shadow enwreathed chest. Wilson knew the fuel wouldn't leave him until morning, and even then it would be painful, jarring, a terrible experience in near all ways, and while he flinched when the shadow monster atop him slowly swiped his serpent tongue across his neck, lapped slow and steady with a soft hum against his throat, those dark cruel talons back to kneading his sodden clothes with a gentleness he couldn't remember encountering earlier, Wilson found that just laying here, relaxing under the soft, familiar touches, comforting in its own way, was the only option he found appealing enough to follow.

He'll scold Maxwell about this whole mess later, when he wasn't so drained and relaxed, and when the old man was more sensible. For now, Wilson was just going to let himself relax the new moon night away under the hands of his ill cursed partner.

**Author's Note:**

> A last note - I almost gave myself a heart attack by accidentally, and very, very briefly, posting this nonanonymous. Quite thrilling, I do not recommend it.
> 
> Edit: Errors errors errors. Another note - it is not recommended to post fics late at night when one does not have the wakefulness to read through one last time.


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